The Shells Of Chanticleer (7 page)

“Take some crispy crunchy noodles,” he said, plopping a portion on my plate. It was all so new and strange to me. I let Bing fill my plate with delicious smelling meats and buns, fresh fruit and nuts. My empty stomach felt bottomed out and I was starving. I joined everyone around the table and saw that they were each holding up a mug. I picked up the mug in front of me and held it up as well, waiting. Immediately, a sprightly little man ran over. He was wearing a chef’s cap, a white apron, and a large silver urn slung across his body, from which he filled every mug with a cupful of warm caramel sugar. I put my mug under the urn and it filled perfectly. I sipped.
Mmm, delicious and the perfect temperature
. It tasted like a melted piece of caramel. I drank it all up and immediately my mood improved. As I dived into my lunch, I listened to everyone’s stories about the Prime Minister.

“He spit all over my face,” laughed a boy named Drake.

“He grabbed my arm and I tried to bite him to make him let go,” said Poppy. “Which made him even angrier. I ran out so fast that I lost my balance and fell on my bottom out in the hall.”

Whew. I didn’t fall or get grabbed by the old man; in retrospect maybe I didn’t have that bad of an experience. It all sounded scary or was it? Already I was starting to question my natural reactions. Was that what they wanted from me—to analyze everything?

I asked, “Did he ever catch anyone?”

“Nah,” said Drake. “It’s Chanticleer, a benevolent world, though it might not always seem so.”

When I didn’t laugh, he wrinkled his nose at me and gave me an expectant look.

“It’s from Miss Clarice, don’t you remember? She says that to everybody!”

I did remember. It was obvious that what was happening to me had happened to everybody else at the table as well. All their arms and legs were accounted for and they had smiles on their faces. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe everything would be all right.

“Why is he called the Prime Minister? Does he run this place?”

“No, thank goodness,” said Rafe. “He has that accent, but it’s just a nickname. Most of the time he just sits in his room counting his piles of money.”

So I had been right.

“I don’t understand why he is so mean?” It didn’t make sense to me for him to live like that, inviting us in one minute only to chase us out the next, even if we laughed about it later.

Nobody answered me.

“Um, I don’t know,” Poppy finally volunteered. “It’s just the way it is. Oh look, dessert is out!” Everyone at the table jumped up to get in line. I joined the line again, waiting patiently to pluck a treat from a luscious pile of sugared artistry. There didn’t seem to be any concern about loading us up with sugar. Still, I modestly chose only one item, a piece of milky chocolate molded into the shape of a nutcracker.

“What, only one chocolate nutcracker?” Bing cried when I got back to the table. “You’ll make us all look like little pigs if you don’t take more than that, Miss Macy!”

I bit off the helmet and head of the nutcracker and its outer layer of chocolate broke into chunks, revealing a hard, crunchy cake of buttery toffee underneath. It was chewy and nutty and clung to my teeth. When I finished chewing, there was another on my plate.

“It’s from me,” said Bing. “In honor of your first day. You deserve it.”

“It’s so good,” I said, eagerly biting off the feet first this time. Bing was nice, I had to admit.

“Of course it’s good. Everything here is wonderful! You will see.” As I was putting the last bite into my mouth Bing said, “Okay, you shouldn’t be hungry after that! We don’t want to be late for the rest of your afternoon.”

I sighed. I had hoped I would get the rest of the day off but I had hoped in vain.

We left the dining hall and walked back through the center of Chanticleer. Rafe had resumed his post. I stopped to listen to his mysteriously rhythmic verse.

“And what shoulder and what art

Could twist the sinews of thy heart

And when thy heart began to beat

What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?”

I was amazed at the memory the boy displayed. I said, “He seems like he has it memorized pretty well. How much longer does he have to be out there?”

“Why, until he loves it so much we beg him to stop. But it is not about the memorization, Macy! Tell me, is that the face of someone who loves public speaking?”

I looked at Rafe’s downcast face and his cheeks flushed a pretty pink with embarrassment.

“No?”

“No is right!” Bing said. “Poetry should be recited with joy, with revelry! I should be moved with emotion by his performance. It should be ‘Tiger Tiger, burning bright, in the forest of the night!’”

Bing recited the poem with dramatic flair, projecting his voice loudly. I saw people turn to stare at us. He continued, “Do I feel a surge of emotion when I hear Rafe? Sadly, no. The truth is that I am bored to tears. Rafe is far from learning his lesson here.”

I swerved as Poppy brushed by me. There was now a World History book in addition to an Algebra book on her head.

“Does she walk around all day like that?”

“Yes,” he said. “Sometimes all night too.” Then he added. “No, I’m just kidding. We operate nine to five here. We are not slave drivers! Got to get your three meals a day and your shut-eye. As for Poppy, no, she hasn’t changed her mind yet about slouching. She’ll be here until she does.”

We turned from the town square back down a familiar side street and before I knew it we were ringing the bell again at No. 18. The Prime Minister’s.

“No, Bing. No! Not again!”

Bing looked at me grimly. “Yes, again.”

I begged him. “No, please, why? Why do I have to? I’m afraid to.”

He shushed me.

“Did you already forget why you are here in Chanticleer? We may laugh about the things that happen to us, but what you need to accomplish here is not a joke. You have to try again. How else will you learn? Didn’t Ms. Clarice tell you that this would be work? I know her, I know she did.”

She had. He was right. But right now I didn’t want to be there. I cried out in frustration, “I don’t want to be here. So I’m saying no. Take me back, Bing. Take me back to my room.”

Bing wasn’t budging. “I won’t let you do that. You wouldn’t want to either, if you knew what it meant to fail here; what happens when you do. You wouldn’t want to turn into a shell of yourself, but you will be on track to do so if you don’t push yourself a little harder. You are my project and I won’t let you fail here.”

He pressed the button and once again the gate unlocked. Ahead, the double doors swung open and the little old lady looked down upon us imperiously as she waited. I closed my eyes, wishing it all away, wishing myself back home, or even back in that hospital bed. But I wasn’t. I was there and had to deal with it.

“Come on, pumpkin, it won’t be that bad,” Bing urged, squeezing my shoulder, trying to shake a smile out of my stiff face. “Chanticleer is a benevolent world, although it may not always seem so.”

Oh good grief,
I thought.
Not that claptrap again.

“Fine, I can see I have no choice here. But if that old windbag as much as comes near me again, I swear I will punch him in his fat gut so hard that he’ll .…”

“That’s the spirit!” Bing interrupted, and as soon as I relented and stepped through the gate, he slammed it shut behind me and headed back down the sidewalk towards the center of the town, yelling cheerily “Good Luck! See you soon.”

I walked up the steps reluctantly. The elderly maid said nothing to me. She only pointed up towards the second floor. I dragged myself up the stairs to the landing and entered the library. My grand mess was there untouched. The shelves were bare.

I sank into a chair and buried my head in my hands feeling sorry for myself. Taking all of the books off of the shelves hadn’t been my brightest idea. I sat there with my chin resting on my hand, looking around, considering my options. I noticed that there were no dust motes floating in the air. I remembered lying on the floor at home, looking at the dust motes and feeling sick, and I realized that my life hadn’t been any fun lately, at all. I glanced at the mess around me, frustrated. If I finished the job then maybe I would have some free time. I was tired of feeling sorry for myself. I wasn’t a dope.

I made a decision not to worry about how I did that job; my motto would be to get it done and get out. I promised myself that afterward I would see about getting out and going home, if I could get home from there. I had a bad feeling that the only way out was back through the hospital and I wasn’t sure which place was worse. At least I got solid food in Chanticleer. Lunch was delicious; I was already looking forward to dinner.

I decided to alphabetize the books according to the first letter of each title. I figured if I wanted to read a book, I usually knew what the title was, but wasn’t always sure about the author. If I came into that library looking for a specific book, I would prefer that the volumes be arranged by title and not by author. It might make the Prime Minister mad, but too bad for him. It was my best guess.

I had to climb the library ladder to reach the top shelf where I decided to place the A’s. It was fun at first. I could balance two, sometimes three books in one hand as I used the other to scale the ladder, developing a rhythm to the work. As the day progressed I would occasionally hear footsteps halt for a minute outside of the door and then continue on. When this happened I paused and held my breath, but the door never opened.

I worked nonstop the whole day. I thought I’d be finished by five o’clock as Bing said the town wound down by then, but when the time came I wasn’t finished, and Bing never showed up to retrieve me, so I kept going. The sun started to set; darkness closed in on the frisky lambs in the dome above me. I could smell dinner being prepared downstairs, but no plate was sent up for me. My stomach was making sounds and my mouth was parched and dry. My legs ached; my shoulder blades were stiff. Up and down, up and down.

It was well into the evening, about 8:30 I recall, before all the books were properly shelved. Then I went around and double-checked their order, just to be sure. I was good at spelling; they were all correctly placed according to their titles.

I peeked out into the hallway. Again, nothing but quiet. I could tell that dinner was over because I couldn’t smell the food anymore. I didn’t know what to do next. I sat back on the edge of an armchair, my chin in my hand, and waited. I got irritated. Did anyone care that I was still there? Would they go to sleep and leave me there all night? What about Bing? Didn’t he know that I was still there? Obviously, they’d forgotten about me. All of them.

Time passed. 9:30, 10:00. I grabbed a book from the shelf and tried to get interested. Usually I would, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I sat watching the clock. It was getting really late. I closed my eyes just for a minute and the next thing I knew I was waking up, my face pressed into the cool leather cushion, my body curled up. I had fallen soundly asleep.
Oh my gosh. I was drooling!
I looked at the clock. It was 11 pm. I jumped up and without thinking ran out of the library, across the landing, and down the great staircase. I passed through the darkened, first floor, into the vestibule, opened the door, and left. No one saw me; no one stopped me.

I started walking down the street, cringing a little, waiting for the Prime Minister to come after me, but he didn’t. I walked hastily, and quickly made it back to the center of town, which was completely still and deserted. Soft streetlights illuminated the benches and walkways, and tinkling musical chimes made background music through a sound system. The flower stands from earlier were shuttered tight. The fountains were all turned off. I thought that the air smelled like applesauce. There was no Bing waiting for me. There was no one.

I was lucky to remember the way. I didn’t know if it was safe to be walking alone, but I was desperate to get back. A quick check over my shoulder confirmed that no one was trailing me. I quickened my pace and practically ran up the pathway to Summer Hall. It felt like forever since I had left that morning.

I entered the empty, darkened lobby and sprinted up the double staircase to my room. The hallways were empty. It was lights out. I was never happier than when I finally opened the door to my quiet room and found everything perfectly in place, my bed neatly made, waiting for me. I fell into my bed, hungry and exhausted. I hadn’t passed a single person since I’d left the library. I wished Chanticleer was the kind of place that put candy on the pillow before bed. I tossed around for a few minutes and then fell into a deep sleep.

In the morning I again found a tray with my breakfast and a note from Miss Clarice outside my door. I ate the pastry and the fruit and drank the warm caramel sugar ravenously.
I wish there was a way to get second helpings,
I thought. I bathed and got dressed and walked down the silent hallway to Miss Clarice’s office. Despite the fun I’d had at lunch the day before, I seemed to be alone most of the time there.

I knew my way, and when I got to her office I knew to sit in the velvet chair. She was just finishing up a conversation on the phone so she smiled and held up her finger to let me know she’d only be a minute. I listened in.

“But I think you can give her a little more time,” Miss Clarice pleaded. “No, I’m sure we have let others go on this long.”

She sighed, listening to the other end of the conversation. I thought she looked sad. She stood up and walked over to the window, turning her back to me as if my overhearing was not ideal.

“One more week,” she requested, and continued to plead her case. “I just don’t feel completely right about this yet. No, I know. No, she’s no different. I know, I know. I thought there were slight improvements recently, even if the assessment says otherwise. Four more days? I can agree to that. Sure, you can start the paperwork if you want to save time. For what date? All right, yes, I suppose that will have to work. I see. I know you like to do it that way. Okay, goodbye then.”